


blurring all the lines

by abvj



Category: Younger (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15583989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abvj/pseuds/abvj
Summary: I'm all in.Or: The morning after. Set during 5x08.





	blurring all the lines

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly borrowed from Camila Cabello because, well, you know why. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. Con-crit is of course appreciated.

There is a scar, old and faded somewhere near the delicate jut of hip bone. Another just left of her knee. The puckering of skin is barely noticeable in such faint light, carry stories he will be brave enough to ask for someday, but now Charles simply memorizes and catalogs. Finds himself holding his breath and curling his fingers into a fist for one second, two second before allowing himself to reach for her simply because she is here, with him, and finally, _finally_ he is allowed. 

Beside him Liza is mostly asleep, sprawled out of her stomach with arms fanned out somewhere near her head. She is only half covered by a thin sheet, unapologetic and breathtaking as she takes up most of the bed. 

Hours before they had fallen asleep together, laughing and yawning as they traded stories from days gone by. Early morning filtered in too soon, and when Charles woke he and Liza were mostly separate except tangled feet and his fingers splayed against her hip. 

Even in his sleep, he cannot stop touching her. 

It is overwhelming and almost compulsive - this need to be in constant contact with her. Almost like if he let go, even for just a mere moment, it would all cease to be nothing but a beautiful figment of his imagination. 

Earlier there had been an attempt at slow. Charles had every intention of taking his time, learning every glorious curve and dip of her with his mouth and hands, but once they were inside the hotel room everything became fluid and all-consuming. Their movements became fueled by months and months of buildup and hidden innuendo, the exhausting dance of one step forward, ten steps back. There had been an attempt or two on his part to change the pace, to alter the course of things to something that resembled patience. He had even murmured something about _slow_ somewhere near her ear, but Liza had simply tilted her head back and laughed, mumbling _there will be time for that later_ before she began to undress herself in front of him in what was, quite possibly, the sexiest thing he has ever witnessed. 

Now, in the aftermath, he takes pleasure in taking his time, allows his fingers to draw lazy patterns into her skin. His touch starts lightly near her shoulder blade before dancing along her spine. She stirs then, mewing a little, and shifts completely into his touch. The smile spreading across his mouth is reflexive with just smidge of smug as he watches the sheet slip lower and lower and lower, exposing the perfect curve of her ass and long line of her legs. 

Legs that he fantasized about for, well, as long as he has probably known her if he is being entirely honest. 

Something primal rises and catches in his throat, making it go dry. 

He feels bold and so incredibly enamored with her that he cannot help himself as he trails the tips of his fingers over the newly exposed skin, ending just at the soft spot behind her knee. Liza giggles a little at that, jerking her leg out of his grasp and twisting her neck to face him. 

Charles raises an eyebrow. "You're ticklish?" 

Her mouth curls. "Maybe." 

He hums something low and appreciative, files that tidbit of information away as he watches her blink herself fully awake. There is a moment that strums on between them then where they simply stare dumbly at each other, grins wide and full of teeth, almost exact mirror images of the other. There is something so intimate about being here with her like this, with everything literally and figuratively stripped down and laid bare, no room for pretense. 

Charles has known love before, been in love before, but the intimacy of it always made him nervous, forced him to be guarded. He has never been fond of feeling vulnerable. 

With Liza, it feels fundamentally different. 

There is an overwhelming need to tell her that, to share his own truth, but it feels like too much too soon, like it would be giving too much of himself away. 

"Hi," she says first. 

He can identify the exact moment she realizes she is mostly naked, the moment she starts to become self-conscious. He catches her hand before she can tug at the sheet. Intertwines his fingers with hers. Presses a kiss to her knuckles. 

"Good morning," he murmurs quietly, and Liza immediately softens and shifts until every last inch of space between them has been bridged. 

She sighs when he kisses her then, something weighted and content that he swallows and makes his own. This kiss is unlike anything they've ever shared before. It is lazy and slow. Patient. Her hand leaves his to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling and tugging with just the right amount of pressure to deepen the kiss before pressing against his shoulder blades, urging him closer to her. He obliges all too easily, pushes a knee between both of hers, runs his hands along every inch of her that he can reach. 

Liza's skin is warm and smooth and inviting and already everything with her feels achingly familiar. 

When he pulls away it is simply to catch his breath. Charles watches a lazy grin spread across her lips, feels a mixture of arousal and affection coil to life inside him as she smooths out his messy hair, traces the line of his jaw. She leans forward, presses a single, chaste kiss to the edge of his mouth. Sighs again. There is a look of contemplation, and Charles knows her tells, sees her considering something. Finds himself holding his breath because everything is so shiny and new and perfect and there is a part of him waiting for the inevitable downfall out of sheer habit. 

"I came to the restaurant that night," she tells him quietly after a brief silence. He must look confused because she clarifies, "After we kissed in Paramus," almost too seriously, just before laughing nervously and screwing up her face as she continues, "But I saw you talking with Bob and Julia and, well, you can figure out the rest." 

It does something funny to his chest when he remembers that night. How stupidly hopeful he had been at the start juxtaposed with the utter disappointment when she canceled. He had been cold to her the next day out of sheer self-preservation. Forced himself to make a play at moving on. It was not his finest moment - the whole relationship with Rhada. She had been nothing but a replacement, undeserving of his misplaced advances. He had liked her, admired her intelligence and beauty, but Liza had always been there in the back of his mind. 

In the end, he was never able to move on because he was constantly holding on to the hope of _someday._

Idly, Charles cannot help but think about all that wasted time, all the carefully placed distanced full of pining and longing for one another. The anger spilled between them over the last few months. He cannot help but think what would be now if they had just taken a moment to be honest then, to be truthful. He wonders, not for the first time, if she would have told him the truth that night, if she would have told him eventually at all. 

He almost asks her, even opens his mouth to seek reassurance, but realizes he doesn't need to because he knows her and always has. He does not doubt that now. 

Still, his silence must unnerve her because suddenly her touch is at his jaw, guiding his mouth to hers gently. 

"I've wanted to tell you that for so long. Wanted you to know..." she pauses again, unsure for a moment before looking him in the eye as she breathes, "Even then I wanted you." 

He chuckles softly somewhere near the crook of her neck. 

"The feeling was, uh, definitely mutual. Even then. _Obviously._ I'm sure you were aware." 

"I had an inkling, yes," she says, and he doesn't have to look at her to know she is grinning. 

Suddenly there is the pressure of her hands against his shoulder, pushing until his back is flat on the mattress and she is mostly on top of him, a thigh sliding home on either side of his. Her weight is a welcomed addition, and for a moment all Charles can do is watch her, both in awe and with sheer amazement that this woman is with him, that she has chosen him. There is a fullness in his chest as he looks at her, something that constricts and then releases only to constrict all over again. 

Liza is a vision, really, with her messy hair and perfect curves, and Charlies is very much aware that these are the types of moments people write poetry about. But he his heart is pounding in his ears, his mind blank and full of nothing but her, so all he can do is stare and make a memory to carry with him. 

A need to touch her rises and cuts through him and it only takes a mere second to remember that he can. That she wants him to. Charles reaches for her hips first, thumbs drawing the slopes of his initials into the slender bone there before traveling up, up, up over the curves of her waist and the delicate line of her breasts. She fidgets under his gaze and hands, nervous. He can tell by the way she starts to comb her hands through her hair, moves it out of her face. The edges of her ears turn pink. 

Charles catches her hand. Holds on. "You are so beautiful," he murmurs, almost too seriously. 

Liza kisses him then with a fierce possessiveness that slowly unhinges him. 

The kiss is all tongue and teeth, an edge of bite. Her tongue presses against his lips, begging for access that he grants readily. He had good intentions to start, wanted slow and leisurely, wanted to take his time and map out every single every inch of her until they are both strung out and begging for it. But then suddenly one of her hands is roughly guiding his between her legs and she is already so impatient and achingly wet for him that it makes his brain go bright white then blank, flickering off completely. All he knows how to do after is kiss her and remember to breathe as he counts to ten when her other hand settles around him, applying just the slightest amount of pressure. Charles mumbles _fuck_ gracelessly around some strangled, unintelligible sound that vaguely resembles her name, and it must surprise her because she is tilting her head back and laughing as she guides him into her without any preamble, like they've been doing this for years. 

And then suddenly everything goes still. 

Liza is above him, arching her back and moaning at the fit of them together, and Charles can do nothing but hold his breath and count to ten, lose himself completely in how warm and tight she is. 

Whatever rational part of him that is still functioning yearns to flip them, to take control because he knows if he doesn't this will be over embarrassingly fast. But then she starts to move, and everything about her becomes quick and desperate, frantic almost. Like she cannot get enough at once, and he wants her to take whatever she wants from him, wants to give her whatever she needs, so he gives into her completely. 

The more they kiss the messier their movements become. Her hips rock against his, rising and falling with a rhythm she enjoys. There is little precision and grace, but it is beautiful and innately them, and he moves with her, kissing through it all. 

When she comes it is sudden and quick, with his name on her lips and her fingers digging into his shoulders, marking him with reminders he will proudly carry for days. 

 

 

__

 

 

Sometime after they lay shoulder to shoulder, entirely naked and spent. 

Everything is bright and hazy at once, and Charles finds it difficult to adjust.

Eventually, Liza turns her head towards him. He does the same and finds her grinning. He grins right back. 

"I'm all in," she breathes, still a little out of breath. She is not shy when she reaches for him, her touch light near the bend of his elbow. "Just in case it needs to be said."

It is a quiet moment that stretches between them then. One that is full of unspoken promise and already he is skipping forward months and years, their future spilling before them in snapshots. Charles finds his heart suddenly in his throat and he swallows around it as he finally allows himself to fall completely and irrevocably in love with her. 

"Me too," he says, quiet but sure. 

When he leans in to kiss her again she meets him halfway.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone feels inclined, drop me a prompt for these two in the comments and I may write a little something. They have literally eaten my brain.


End file.
